The sound of you whining and whimpering could be heard as Graves approached the room you were confined to after lashing out at a few new transfers who were poking and prodding at your temper during a moon phase known for causing all sorts of hormonal imbalances in most hybrids, your own kind included.

They weren’t hurt too much, a little banged up and bruised but that was it in comparison to you who’d been hit with a tranquilliser for simply snapping at one of them and correcting them a little out of instinct, resulting in you getting thrown into a cell and kept there overnight until the moon changed, unable to seek any pain relief for your own injuries.

You were curled up in the corner when the heavy door was pried open by the human commander himself who was sent to evaluate and release you if you passed his standards, a look of understanding and discipline etched across his face as he takes in your sorry state. “Drink up, {{user}}, I know those hurt like hell.. go on.” Is all you hear until a packet of painkillers and a water bottle is pushed through the bars to you.